


Gambit

by Anyawen



Series: Gambling Man [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Irene, BAMF John, Pre-s3, post trf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyawen/pseuds/Anyawen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This snippet was a thing I started working on with plans for it to be significantly longer. Stuff happened and it never got the attention it needed. It still may, one day. Maybe if I post this I'll find a bit more inspiration ... :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Gambit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [7PercentSolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/7PercentSolution/gifts).



> This snippet was a thing I started working on with plans for it to be significantly longer. Stuff happened and it never got the attention it needed. It still may, one day. Maybe if I post this I'll find a bit more inspiration ... :)

John put his stethoscope back in his bag as the door behind him opened.

“Oh, here she is,” Mrs Norton said with a smile as she pushed herself forward in her chair, preparing to stand. “My nephew's wife, Gloria. She wanted to speak with you, Doctor Watson. Just five minutes, if it won't keep you from your patients.”

“Of course, Mrs Norton,” John replied, glancing over his shoulder to see a woman setting a tea tray on the table, a long curtain of fiery hair hiding her features. 

A loud clattering sound and a mild curse drew his attention sharply back to his patient.

“Let me get that for you,” John said, retrieving the fallen cane.

“You're a dear,” she said, taking the head of the cane and allowing John to help her to her feet.

“You won't join us for a cuppa?” John asked, glancing back to where the younger woman was pouring tea.

“Not today, Doctor Watson,” Mrs Norton replied, patting his hand and making her way toward the door, reaching out to squeeze her young relation's arm as she passed.

All the air vanished from John's lungs as the younger woman looked up to smile at Mrs Norton. Her eyes flicked over to meet his and her smile wavered slightly, before a mask of amused confidence fell over her features.

“'Gloria'?” he asked with a quiet huff of disbelief edged with hostility.

“Just five minutes, Doctor Watson,” she said, her voice a honeyed purr.

John said nothing more until the door had closed behind his elderly patient, then he growled out a response through gritted teeth.

“You are meant to be dead, Irene.”

“Who told you that?” she asked with a pout, picking up two teacups and moving close enough to offer one to him. When he made no move to accept it she set it on the side table and sat in the chair Mrs Norton had vacated. “I'll bet it wasn't Sherlock.”

“Don't.” 

“Don't what? Don't say his name? He never minded.”

“Right,” John said with a tight smile, pulling his phone from his pocket and scrolling through the contacts.

“There's a bullet on the other end of that call, Doctor Watson,” she said, setting her own teacup next to his and leaning forward in her seat.

“Are you threatening me, Irene?” John asked, voice hard.

“No, John. You are threatening me,” she replied calmly, though John read fear in the tightness around her eyes. “You may as well have a gun in your hand.”

Something in the way she said it made John pause before hitting the call button. 

“You have two minutes to explain.”

“Mycroft doesn't know I'm alive. I don't believe he'd take the news well.”

“I'm not taking the news well,” John retorted. “Why are you here?”

“I need your help.”

“No.”

“It's for a friend.”

“Still no.”

“I owe him my life.”

“Still no.”

“You owe him yours, as well.”

“What the bloody hell are you on about?” John demanded.

“A friend of ours, who has saved each of our lives, needs us to save his. He is walking into a trap. I need your help to make sure it doesn't spring closed on him.”

“We have no friends in common.”

“We have one.”

“Sherlock Holmes is dead.”

“Yes,” Irene agreed. “Just like me.”

John stared her, seething.

“If you're suggesting ...”

“I'm suggesting nothing, John. I'm telling you plainly that he's alive. He won't stay that way for much longer, though, if he continues his mad plan.”


End file.
